


Just For Tonight

by ferryberry



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, One Shot, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferryberry/pseuds/ferryberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future. In two separate years, Rachel experiences two different kinds of unfaithfulness: with a stranger after a betrayal, and with an old friend, Quinn Fabray, with whom more is always left unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just For Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Glee writers and creators.  
> This is an homage to the movie Last Night, which on first viewing I did not appreciate, and on second, I did. It is an analysis of meaningless physical affairs versus meaningful emotional affairs. As such, there is a short heterosexual sex scene in the first segment. It is meant to draw contrast to the rest of the story, but it is obviously your choice whether or not to read it, so if you'd rather not, the Faberry part begins at Two years later…

It seemed somehow very strange to Rachel that bars celebrated Christmas. Not celebrated outright, necessarily, but they decorated for the holiday. Mistletoe hung from the ceiling, wreaths wound around posts, red ribbons and the occasional flash of tinsel or an ornament caught the eye in various spots. This one had even put out a holiday menu for drinkers who liked a little peppermint or cinnamon punch in their liquor and their coasters had a jolly, red-cheeked Santa Claus on either side. Twinkle lights were wrapped around their posts along with the faux pine tree spirals, and there were men in business suits and ties with snowmen and reindeer on them, laughing it up at a large table.

Not that they were part of the decorative scene, but they may as well have been. It had always seemed like such an innocent holiday. Not just Christmas, either, but the whole holiday season. It was the time of giving, receiving, good will, peace toward all men. Kindness and gifts and laughing children sitting in Santa's lap, grabbing his whiskers and whispering about how good they'd been and how they'd like a bike or a puppy or an awesome new toy. So to see a bar, even a high end bar like this one, a place of alcohol and broken dreams and promises, a place for the lonely, the ones who just wanted to forget, decorated from top to bottom with Christmas - it just seemed strange.

Particularly given the night's events. Rachel had, just three hours ago, been in a boisterous, happy mood. Her show was making record ticket sales, she was scheduled for interviews all weekend, Kurt was designing her a new dress to attend a red carpet event in, she was rumored to be receiving a Tony soon. Things were lovely. More than lovely, they were perfect. And for once, she had the night off so she was free to attend her husband's work holiday party.

She'd thought things were going well. She'd met his boss and his boss' wife, and they got on splendidly. He even introduced her to a few other coworkers of his before he disappeared to retrieve them some refreshments. But he never came back. Rachel tried not to worry as usual, to assume he'd just gotten wrapped up talking to someone, but the longer she sat there with an increasingly sympathetic Mrs. Boss and the farther the hands on the clock tapped around, the flakier Rachel felt.

She'd gone to look for him, flitting through the party and asking after him, had anyone seen him. Not for a while, everyone said. One person suggested she check his office and gave her quick directions. She rode the elevator up, counted the doors down until she found the shiny nameplate with her husband's name engraved, and pushed open the ajar door to find a brown-haired woman riding her husband's cock in his office chair while he growled, "Fuck, that's my tight slut."

Rachel left the party in a complete haze. A few people, particularly Mrs. Boss, attempted to speak to her. She barely remembered a word they said. She only remembered finding this bar, ordering straight-up tequila, and trying her damndest not to cry. She and her husband had been having problems lately, she knew that. Her work was demanding and he sometimes felt stung and left out by the lack of attention. And he also wasn't budging on the idea of having kids. Now she could see why. He hadn't quite sown all his wild oats yet. He didn't want to be tied down, be a father, feel _old_. He still wanted to feel like a young stallion, stud to a harem, nonstop sex.

So she wasn't always in the mood. So sometimes she got home from work and she was tired and didn't exactly feel like putting out at the moment. So sometimes she just didn't want to. Was that reason for this? Reason enough to cheat on her? Because she wasn't fulfilling her 'wifely duties' quite often enough for him?

"Waiting for somebody?"

It was a low, accented voice that spoke from her right, and Rachel whipped her head around ready to snap his head off, because her ire at her husband flared and she wanted to punish all men, for just a moment. But when she looked up at dark blue eyes, scanning her without the slightest bit of subtlety, Rachel couldn't bring herself to tell him to fuck off. There was no less anger in her, no less of an urge to slap him for what her husband was doing and to demand to know what the hell was wrong with the male side of the species, but there was something else now.

She didn't know quite what it was, but she would figure it out later. For the time being, she only shook her head and waved a dismissive hand at the stool next to her, looking ahead coldly though she was really peering at him in the mirror as he slid up onto it, eyes on her the entire time. He was one of the men in the business suits, but his tie was less festive, just a red thing dangling down the middle of his white dress shirt. It was well-fitted, probably custom made - she'd seen enough of those by now to know it when she saw it. And he was bulky. Muscular. Her husband wasn't very muscular.

The stranger wasn't particularly handsome, however. He had a sharp nose and round lips, and his short brown hair had a smidge too much gel in it. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that he wasn't taking his eyes off of her, and an hour ago she had just seen a woman joy riding her husband's dick while he called her his slut, and Rachel was angry and wanted to cry and scream and throw a drama queen fit like she would've back in high school.

She should've, now that she thought about it. She should've stomped into that room and yanked that whore off her husband by the hair and then slapped him so hard he saw stars. Screamed at them both until she was too hoarse, too upset to scream anymore, or until his entire office had come up to see what fucking lying cheaters their coworkers were.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Rachel pushed her empty glass away on the bartop. "Tequila."

The stranger lifted his hand to wave the bartender over, ordering them each a shot before he addressed her again. "Rough night?"

She scoffed, watching the amber liquid spill. "You have no idea." She grabbed up the glass and swung it back in one go.

"Another one," the stranger ordered, and Rachel slid the glass forward again. "Maybe I can help."

Rachel swallowed down the next shot, coughed, and wiped her eyes. She was not going to cry. She was not going to cry in front of this stranger who was staring at her breasts and had more muscles than her husband did and looked pretty good in a suit, actually.

"Actually, you can. Show me your hands."

His eyebrows knit. "What?"

"Show me your hands." She gestured more insistently.

"Okay…" He set down his shot glass and splayed both hands on the bartop - slowly, uncertainly.

Rachel leaned forward to peer at the left fingers in particular. No rings, no indents indicating there were usually rings. She leaned back again, satisfied, and waved the bartender back over. He left the bottle this time.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked abruptly.

The stranger picked up his glass again, holding it out for her to fill. "No. Just broke up a week ago, actually."

"Did one of you cheat?"

His eyes lit with realization, but he shook his head. "No."

"Good. That's good." Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and turned on the stool to face him. He folded his hands together, sitting up at attention. "Then you can do two things to help me. One, you can never cheat on anyone you're with. There's too many goddamn, lowlife, fucking assholes out there as it is."

The stranger nodded, the corner of his lip curled. "And the second thing?"

Rachel said nothing, but took one of his big hands and set it on her thigh as she turned back to the bar for another shot. From there, things went rather quickly. Before Rachel knew it, the two of them were headed to the hotel he was staying at - evidently he really was native to England - and he was kissing and sucking on her neck in the cab, rubbing big fingers on her inner thigh in circles, and it felt more like he was kneading dough than teasing her sex, but Rachel couldn't care less at the moment.

He was a good kisser, and his muscles felt nice and tight under her hands, and he lifted her up against the door when they got into his hotel room, fitting her legs snugly around his waist while he kissed her and ground the bulge in his suit pants up against her crotch until she cooperated and moaned for him. Then he wheeled her around to deposit her on the bed, shrugging off his jacket and peeling off her stockings while she loosened his tie. His hands lumped under her back while he unzipped her dress partway, enough to get it down so he could suck and bite her tits, slipping the cups of her bra aside. His big fingers gripped and pinched her nipples, tugging roughly at them.

And then he pulled her panties off and unzipped his pants and grabbed a condom and pushed inside her. He was bigger than her husband, though not by much, and he was definitely rougher. He plowed into her over and over and all she could do was hold on to his neck while he kissed hers and grunted as her legs clamped around his hips in need for something to brace herself on. Occasionally one of his large hands found one of her tits again, sliding over it sloppily in his concentration on thrusting into her like a jackhammer, and after about fifteen minutes of this, he let out a loud groan and stopped, slumping on top of her so she could barely breathe under his giant frame.

She pushed him away after giving him a few moments to gather his breath, and he petted her hair clumsily and rolled aside to toss away the condom. He didn't protest when she stood a few minutes later, fixing her appearance up in the large bathroom mirror and sliding on her stockings and heels again, slinging her purse over her shoulder on her way out the door. She went downstairs to get her own room and once inside, thankfully on a different floor, Rachel stripped and showered and cried. She wrapped herself in a fluffy hotel robe afterward and lay in bed, staring at the far wall.

She didn't feel any better.

#

_Two years later…_

It was that time of year again. For the second year in a row, Rachel had been booked solid all through the holiday season, until after Christmas. Her show had had an amazing run this year. It had even sold a record number of tickets one night. The powers at the head of the project had decided to cut it short before New Year's, however, since it was unlikely anyone would be celebrating by going to see a Broadway show, and if they did, they would be a very poor - and drunk - audience. So tonight had been the last night.

Rachel didn't want to go home. She sat in front of her vanity table with her heels up on the chair, rolling her mascara back and forth on the wooden top while she waved and smiled to the cast members who stopped by to say good night and wish her a happy New Year. The apartment had been very empty the last few nights, with her husband off on a business trip. She checked her phone almost obsessively every day, to see where he had checked in on Swarm. At the moment, he was at his hotel.

Things were better now. Two years ago, they'd almost imploded, after he cheated and then she cheated and she moved out on him. But he'd begged and pleaded and blamed it on the fact that he missed her and never saw her anymore so he'd made a mistake once or twice, but it was all about her and he loved her and needed her and they could talk about kids if she wanted to. She went back to him after he agreed to find a new job away from the brown-haired whore and after the paparazzi started taking note of their problems. He'd found a new job on the other side of the city almost instantly and she moved back in. They'd been working on things since then. They hadn't talked about kids since he last brought it up.

Rachel rubbed her forehead at the idea presently and lifted her feet off the chair, going to finish changing back into the sweatpants and t-shirt she'd arrived at work in. It never seemed worth it to dress up if she wasn't going to be doing a meet and greet afterward, and she wasn't tonight. She was simply going home to pour herself some red wine and maybe take a bubble bath and pop in It's a Wonderful Life before she went to bed.

She was halfway to her car in the parking garage when her phone buzzed in her purse, rather loudly belting the melody from My Man before she dug it out and answered without looking, "Hello?"

"Rachel. It's me."

The sweet, husky voice sent a tremor to Rachel's stomach and an immediate smile to her lips, and she breathed back, "Quinn."

"Hey. How are you?"

Rachel glanced about her and scurried to the side to allow a truck by, rushing to her car now to slide in and set her purse in the passenger seat. "I'm-I'm okay, I just got done with a show, actually. How are you?"

"I'm good. I'm actually - I'm in the city. I was wondering if you'd like to get together for dinner or some drinks tomorrow night."

She sounded good. Her voice was always a pleasant purr, of course, one Rachel would like to narrate all of her audiobooks, but she sounded happy. Her tone was light and easy, like she was smiling into the phone. Rachel closed her eyes to imagine it, rubbing her thumb on her key ring.

"I'd love to. When? Where?"

"I was thinking L'Artusi? 7 o'clock?"

Rachel nodded to herself quickly. "Sounds perfect."

Quinn's smile widened in her imagining. "I'll see you then."

"See you then."

Her phone beeped to alert her that the call had ended, and Rachel lowered it to clear out the call and settle it back into her purse, smiling absently. It had been a long time since she'd actually seen Quinn. Three years, in fact. They'd exchanged emails, texts, the occasional like or comment on Facebook, but there had been no calls, no meetings, not even Skype like they'd done before Rachel was married. Now, out of nowhere, Quinn was in NYC again, wanting to see her tomorrow night.

Rachel drove home in a daze and though she grabbed the glass of wine, she headed to her bookshelves rather than her bathtub, pulling down yearbooks and a couple of photo albums to plop on the bed in front of her. She pried open the sophomore yearbook first, flipping through pages and sipping at her glass until she came to the glee club picture and stopped, smiling widely down at the pregnant blonde, barely showing at the time it was taken. She traced a finger down the page, hurrying to the next yearbook to find the long-haired beauty with the annoyed face, giggling to herself for a moment. Quinn really had been perturbed that entire year and completely unable to hide it. She shook her head to dig for the senior photo. Quinn smiled brilliantly in that one, hair short and curled to frame her face. Rachel tapped her perfect nose and smiled back at her.

She slid the yearbooks aside, leaving the senior photo on top, and dragged over one of the photo albums instead. It took longer this time, flipping through quickly as she was; there were so few pictures of the two of them together and it wasn't until she pulled the second album over that she found one of them, from Rachel's first trip to visit her in LA. They had gone to get a picture in front of the Hollywood sign almost as soon as Rachel arrived, of course, dragging Noah along, and he'd taken the shot. His thumb was obscuring part of it, but they were both smiling brightly, and Rachel had hooked her arms around Quinn's neck from behind. She remembered Quinn smelled like cinnamon that day, and it had prickled her nose, leaving it a little wrinkled in the picture.

Rachel took her time through the rest of the pictures from that trip, most of them of the sights rather than of the two of them together, since Noah had been fired from that job and sent home to sulk while the two of them had fun. He'd been remarkably grumpy on that trip, and not long afterward, Quinn and he had split - again. Rachel thought it for the best, if he was going to be so sour when Quinn required someone who would infect her with their happiness. So the rest of the shots were selfies, one of their arms stretched far out to take it while their cheeks pressed together at the Union Station, Grauman's Chinese Theatre, at the Venice Canals Walkway - all the best and most touristy places in LA.

There had been a trip of iconic places in New York City, too, but Quinn had that album. Rachel's phone had been broken the entire time Quinn had been there and since phones had taken over the job of cameras, she didn't have a backup. She remembered being sorely disappointed then, unable to get snapshots of her with Quinn in New York, proof that she'd actually gotten her out there and they, Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray, had spent marvelous hours together. Maybe she would have to steal one tomorrow night.

Rachel fell asleep with the yearbooks and photo albums splayed out on the bed, her wine glass mostly empty and resting precariously on her chest, between loose fingers. In the morning, despite the small spill of red onto the white sheets next to her, Rachel woke with a smile and stretched, rubbing her eyes. She was going to see Quinn.

After putting away the yearbooks and photo albums, Rachel changed her sheets, making a trip down to the basement to put them in the washer before she came upstairs again to eat breakfast over the newspaper and sort through the mail. She washed dishes by hand after finishing, flipping on the radio to sing along with while she was at it. This was all finished by ten am.

By eleven, she had switched the sheets to the dryer, cleaned up the kitchen counter and table of crumbs, and finished her current book. She posted a review on Goodreads and checked her email, too, answering a few fans that had gotten through her agent on her site. At twelve, in the middle of a very good salad, it occurred to her that Quinn might come up after drinks and dinner, and she retrieved the sheets out of the dryer, folded and put them away, and immediately started another batch of wash from her dirty hamper.

The afternoon was spent running from the basement to the apartment, changing out batches and cleaning things up around the place. Books and magazines were straightened or put away, the floor was vacuumed, surfaces were dusted, windows were swiped down on either side. The bathrooms were given a much-needed cleansing and the bedroom was straightened out, bed made, wine glass and bottle out, all clothes folded and put away.

On her way back into the bedroom with a basket full of freshly dried laundry, Rachel took a glance at the clock - her jaw nearly dropped on seeing a five, a zero, and a two. She only had two hours to get ready and get to L'Artusi. She set the laundry basket on the floor next to the dresser, stripping off her t-shirt, sweatpants, and panties to toss all three into the hamper and hop in the shower, scrubbing herself down with soap and water and then her towel. She placed a couple of curlers in the first few strands of hair on either side of her face and blow-dried the rest, brushing it out and scooping it into a loose bun to allow pieces to grace her neck.

Though she had brushed her teeth that morning, Rachel gave her mouth another good cleaning and trimmed her nails and toenails, shaved a few longer hairs off her legs and beneath her arms, plucked a few stray ones from her eyebrows, and then cleaned out her ears with a Q-tip and peroxide, just in case. Deodorant applied, just a spritz of Moonlight Path to her neck and wrists, and Rachel trotted back to the bedroom in her fluffy towel to retrieve makeup, layering it carefully, first foundation that matched her skin tone, then just a dab with the blush to redden her cheeks, but she spent the most time on her lips and eyes, carefully applying liner and mascara and gloss to make them pop the way they did whenever Kurt did her makeup.

Her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter, alerting her to the fact that it was six o'clock and she now had only an hour left to it together, and that included the cab drive. Rachel rushed out to her dresser, trying not to undo all her hard work from earlier as she dug through it for a black lace bra and underwear, a silky black slip, and of course stockings before she dove into her closet, flipping dress after dress aside until she found exactly what she wanted - an original Diane von Furstenberg, a New Jeanne Two Jersey Wrap Dress - at least, that's what Kurt had told her it was at Christmas. Brand new, ebony, and classic.

Rachel slipped it on and at last, pulled out the curlers to let the two strands bounce and dangle on either side of her face. As she looked at herself in the full-length mirror in the bedroom, heels on and purse strap over her shoulder to complete the look, she smiled widely, unable to contain it, and checked her phone for the time. Time to go. She practically ran out the door, remembering her keys and long winter coat at the last minute before she went down to call for a cab. She paid the man in advance - it tended to get them going a little quicker, she had discovered, and bounced her knees on the car floor as she watched Christmas and business lights whiz by on either side, until they were finally outside L'Artusi.

There was a short line waiting just outside, but after handing the driver a tip for his swiftness, Rachel passed by it to tell the hostess, "I'm meeting someone," and the woman just nodded her on. The bar space was long and homey, but it didn't take Rachel long to spot the most beautiful woman in the room, stirring an olive in her martini glass and wearing an emerald dress that Rachel was certain brought out her eyes once you got up closer. And as she shifted around a waiter to walk along the line of customers to meet her, she found she was absolutely right.

Quinn smiled at her. Brilliantly, widely, heart-poundingly, irresistibly, and Rachel grinned back at her as she slid off her stool to wrap Rachel in a hug she wholeheartedly accepted. Her eyes fell shut at the warmth and force of Quinn's arms around her, squeezing fingers into the fabric of her dress, her way of silently saying 'I've missed you.' Rachel squeezed back, but into Quinn's bare back, the softest skin you've ever felt, the muscles hard beneath it. She smelled like lilacs tonight.

Quinn stepped back first, swiping her purse off of the stool next to her own and gesturing, a seeming permanent smile wedged on her lips. "I saved a spot for you."

Rachel slid up onto it in what she hoped was as graceful a manner as Quinn always had. "Why, thank you, ma'am."

"My pleasure." Quinn's eyes were locked on her for a moment longer before she waved to the bartender, calling to him as she pushed her martini glass forward on its napkin, "Two glasses of Merlot, please."

"You remembered," she noted.

Quinn didn't dignify that with an answer, only looking at her again with bright hazel eyes. They were like ambers in this light, glowing just at Rachel. And her hair, too, the blonde locks shone like gold in a neat bun, all of it gathered off her neck, leaving the pale length of it naked and unencumbered, natural. The creases by the corners of her mouth, where she smiled most, were deepened. She looked happy.

"Our table should be ready soon," Quinn said at length.

Rachel nodded, shrugging off her coat and settling it over her lap before she admitted, "It's so good to see you. I've really missed you."

Quinn smiled at her again, wider. "I've missed you, too." Her voice was barely a breath, and then the bartender brought their drinks and she straightened. "So how are things? How's the show?"

"Good. Actually, last night was our last performance of the season."

"Any idea what's next?"

Rachel shrugged her shoulders, tilting back the glass for a sip. "I don't know."

Quinn's head tilted. "You always know."

"Maybe a break."

"A break."

Rachel nodded, smiling to reassure Quinn when the creases at her mouth started to grow fainter, her brow knitting together. "I've been working nonstop lately and I don't know. I feel like I could use a rest for a while."

Quinn only nodded after a moment.

"So what about you?" Rachel tapped her elbow. "How's the documentary, photography, modeling, acting, painting, retail going?" She giggled as Quinn's lips curled up again, leaning an elbow against the bar to get a better look at her face.

"Actually, right now, it's writing."

"Writing?" Her eyebrows lifted. "That's new… What kind of writing?"

She tossed her head. "Not sure yet. It was meant to be a screenplay, but it's kind of coming out a novel."

Rachel's belly shook again, a grin splitting her lips. "Uh huh, and how long until you get bored of this career path?"

"At least six months," she returned with a smirk. "I have a lot of ideas, lots of inspiration." Her eyes hooked onto Rachel's for a moment, fingers flattening the napkin her glass sat on.

Rachel straightened a bit. "Well, tell me what it's about."

Quinn cleared her throat. "Well - "

"Excuse me, Ms. Fabray, your table is ready."

Rachel echoed Quinn's sheepish smile as they gathered their coats and purses to trail after the waitress holding two menus at her side into the main restaurant area. Their table was in a dark corner section, near the blue hall lights, setting Quinn aglow again, but now highlighting the paleness of her skin, the fairness of that thick bun of blonde hair.

Rachel slung her coat and purse over the back of her chair as she scooted in and accepted a menu from the waitress. "Thank you."

"Same drinks from the bar, or are we ordering something new, ladies?"

"Same. Two Merlot, thank you," Quinn answered, setting her sights back on the menu once the waitress stepped away.

Rachel gnawed on her bottom lip as her eyes flicked back and forth over the page. "Where are you staying?"

Quinn's head rose up. "Four Seasons."

"How long?"

"I leave in the morning."

Rachel grimaced as her teeth came down a bit too harshly and covered it with a long sip of the water already awaiting them. "I see."

Quinn smiled and looked back to her menu.

"So how long have you actually…?"

"Just a week," Quinn answered easily.

Rachel set her menu down on the tabletop then, opening her mouth once and then bursting forth. "Why didn't you call me before now?"

Quinn followed suit, placing her menu more carefully. "I wasn't sure you would want to see me. It's been a long time."

Her lips pursed for just a moment, conceding the point. "Too long," she admitted quietly.

Quinn smiled then. "You haven't asked me why I'm here yet."

The dance of her eyebrows as she spoke led Rachel to tease back after a sip off her glass, "That's because I don't care."

"Oh, all right then." Quinn made a show of picking up her menu to peruse once more, and Rachel laughed and reached to swat at her hand, and just like that, the tension was broken.

"I've been waiting for you to tell me, but I should've known, shouldn't I? You're in constant the NSA-is-watching mode," Rachel reprimanded lightly, leaning back again.

"Actually, it's the KGB. They're everywhere," she deadpanned, and Rachel tossed her head back with another laugh - she'd forgotten how light Quinn always made her feel.

"Your drinks," the waitress interrupted, setting the glasses carefully in front of each of them. "And what will you have?"

Quinn nodded for Rachel to go first, so she picked up her menu hastily and scanned and answered, "I'll go with the kale salad and the cappellacci, please."

"Roasted mushrooms and pici for me - this is all on one bill."

"Quinn - "

"My treat," she said firmly, and the waitress nodded and stepped away before Rachel could issue another protest.

She huffed at her despite a little smirk and exchanged her water for wine, reaching to tap Quinn's fingers lightly. "So tell me. What are you doing in New York?"

She smiled. "Meeting with a publishing company. They did my photography book and when they heard I was writing, they rang me up."

"So you already have a publisher set up for when you finish, that's great."

She nodded. "If they like it."

"And why wouldn't they? You make every career look effortless."

"Maybe not this one."

Rachel smirked. "Maybe you'll stick with it for a while then. Until you conquer it with a best seller, get bored, and find a new one."

Quinn flashed her pearly whites in a grin. "I don't always need an award to move on."

"It doesn't matter, if people like it, you move on. Like with painting, you were amazing and you were so enthusiastic, and then you sold a few for more than you thought they were worth and you just stopped. When people take out the challenge for you, you get bored." Rachel shrugged nonchalantly and then hid behind her wine glass. "Speaking of which, are you seeing anyone right now?"

Quinn's eyebrow cocked in that peculiar manner. "Nice. I do not give up on relationships because there's no challenge in it, thank you very much, I'm not Puck. But no, I'm not seeing anyone at the moment." Rachel laughed, and Quinn's cheeks darkened in the blue glow. "Are you?"

Rachel tried to contain her giggles. "Only my husband."

"Right, him." Quinn lowered her gaze to the table for a moment, straightening her napkin out.

Rachel set her wine glass back down, drumming her fingernails on the tabletop. "What is your novel about, Quinn?"

"A glee club full of horrible teenagers." There was that deadpan again.

Rachel grinned. "I'm serious."

"So am I," she teased, and Rachel huffed playfully.

"Tell me."

Quinn considered her for a moment with those shining hazel eyes, dark in the new light, almost black. "It's about a woman in love."

"With who?"

"With a fantasy. With the idea of someone."

Rachel tilted her head. "Someone specific?"

"Yes, but that part doesn't matter."

"What does matter?"

"That it's only a fantasy, keeping her from the possibilities of reality."

"Fantasies can come true," Rachel pointed out, frowning.

Quinn shrugged. "Hers can't. And thinking that way only contributes to her idea that someday, it might."

Rachel smiled wryly. "So basically it's about telling optimists like myself to give up."

She laughed. "No. Not to give up. But to be realistic about your goals and dreams."

She nodded once, smiling back at Quinn briefly before their steaming plates arrived, set carefully in front of them with clothed hands.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

Quinn waved her fork as she took to cutting into her roasted mushrooms, and Rachel shook her head graciously before digging into her kale salad, watching Quinn quietly for the moment. Her pink lips twisted and pursed as she ate, sliding each bite of food onto her tongue without even once showing her teeth - she hardly opened her mouth at all. She was so practiced with etiquette, so practiced it seemed effortless as everything else she did.

They exchanged a bite of each other's food, Quinn carefully avoiding spearing any of the pork ragu to offer Rachel, and spent the meal discussing more menial things, like how their other old glee friends on each side of the country were doing. Mercedes was well, though Rachel could have guessed that without hearing it from Quinn, since her single had recently reached number five on the charts. She was swiftly becoming an icon among African American musicians, being called the new Aretha Franklin in the magazines, and she and Sam had recently settled into a new apartment together. He, too, was doing well despite conducting business with Blaine across the country. They had gone into creating comic books together almost as soon as they left high school; Blaine took care of story, and Sam illustrated. Rachel had dealt with a lot of angst over their creative union from Kurt, at least until she pointed out how Queer As Folk the whole thing was.

Kurt was doing well now, an editor at Vogue. On prior promotions, he'd been able to steal a few roles on stage, but in the current business, he had no such luck. He and Blaine were considering expanding their family with an adoption. Noah was still in the Air Force, but in his spare time, he had taken up a pool cleaning business in LA, similar to the one he'd had in Lima. Except without the sex with older women. Hopefully. And of course, Santana and Brittany were just fine. Married and happy; Brittany was dancing in music videos, and Santana was recently made a partner in her law firm. Neither Quinn nor Rachel heard much from the others - Artie, Tina, Mike, Joe, etc. It was more difficult living farther apart, but from what they did know, they were all married or having babies or enjoying life singly.

Everyone was happy, in sum. Finally. It seemed only fair after all everyone had gone through in high school and college thereafter.

The waitress came by to ask if they wanted dessert, and after Rachel shook her head in the negative, Quinn answered no and collected the bill, keeping it on her side of the table and covering the total despite Rachel's many giggling attempts to grab it. Once the final receipt was signed, they stood to pile on coats and purses before they went out into the fresh, cold air, and Rachel slid her hands into her pockets as she peered up at Quinn with a reluctant sigh.

"Well…"

"Drinks?" Quinn offered, and Rachel giggled.

"I think we've both had enough. It can't be _that_ kind of night."

Quinn merely smirked and jerked her head for Rachel to come along, and like she was attached by string, Rachel stepped to her side.

"So you didn't see Santana or Brittany this week?" she realized, peeking up at her profile, and when Quinn shook her head, Rachel teased, "If Santana finds out, you're going to be in troooubllle."

Quinn laughed. "I'll catch them next time."

"Meaning in ten years," she retorted playfully, bumping her shoulder up into Quinn's.

"I might be back sooner than that. I'll have to have more meetings with the publishers."

"I see." Rachel nodded, turning her phone and her keys in her pockets.

Quinn tugged at her elbow, suddenly pulling her toward the curb, and Rachel laughed as she stumbled after her.

"Come on."

"Why? Where are we going?"

Quinn grinned back at her and whistled loud for a cab. The nearest taxis jerked to a stop and Rachel ran after Quinn like they were in a war zone dodging bullets on the way to a bunker, only stopping once they were panting in the backseat of a cab, giggling madly while Quinn breathed to the driver up front, "Rockefeller Center."

Rachel smiled up at Quinn as she rocked back again and the taxi jerked forward, leaning her head back, and Quinn only smiled back at her. The lights shifted over her face, but each time they lit up hazel eyes, they were sparkling brightly, the way they did since high school and officially becoming friends. They were always breathtaking, those eyes, leaving Rachel thoughtless, if not speechless, like nothing else could. Her heart was pounding in a way that she was sure was audible, even if only to her own ears, and she could no longer resist the urge to reach out for Quinn's hand and hold it, the way they used to, fingers threading.

"I really have missed you," she breathed up at her.

Quinn's arm lifted from between them and Rachel lifted her head up long enough for Quinn to wrap her arm about her shoulders and tuck her closer. Rachel lolled over then to rest against Quinn's shoulder instead, breathing in the field of lilacs and brushing her thumb over the back of Quinn's until she switched them and brushed hers over the back of Rachel's, and they continued on like that in a lazy thumb war until the cab came to a stop and Quinn paid the driver and their smiles returned with the cold as they stumbled out to rent some skates.

Rachel braced herself on Quinn's arm as they stepped out onto the ice, giggling when her foot almost slipped out from under her immediately, gripping tighter to Quinn's coat. Quinn whipped about effortlessly to hold onto Rachel's hands, laughing openly at her.

"Haven't you practiced at all since the last time we did this?"

Rachel shook her head and moved her hands up to Quinn's arms. "No, I haven't done it since you last came out here," she admitted, biting her lip.

Quinn gasped mockingly, pulling her about the rink slowly. "You may be a bad New Yorker."

Rachel swatted her arm and instantly regretted it since she would've fallen flat on her face if not for Quinn's steady arms, and she wound up laughing through her scolding, "I am the best and most enthusiastic New Yorker of all time and how dare you imply otherwise."

Quinn just grinned. "Well, bad at New York Christmas then."

"I can't help it if I've been working all the holidays for the last few years."

"You should take more breaks."

"Weren't you the one staring at me like I had five heads when I suggested just that?" Rachel wavered and held onto Quinn's coat collar, leaving her to settle her hands on Rachel's waist.

"Well, usually you'd never _admit_ to needing a break," Quinn pointed out, smiling as pulled Rachel along, swiping her skates to get a bit more speed as Rachel clung to her. "Well, we're really dancing now."

She waggled her eyebrows, taking one of Rachel's hands in her own and lowering the other to the small of her back, and a tingle hit the pit of Rachel's stomach, leaving her breathlessly laughing as she warned, "Quinn Fabray, if you try to spin me again - "

"Who said anything about spinning, we're just sharing a lovely skate dance, nothing scary," Quinn purred mischievously, those eyebrows definitely in a dangerous position.

"You remember what happened last time, I swear to God - "

Quinn grinned and then pushed her out by the hip, and Rachel screamed and held so tightly to Quinn's hand she thought she might've heard a pop, but Quinn only hauled her back and Rachel grabbed up onto her neck, shaking her head.

"I will kill you," she panted.

Quinn laughed. "You didn't fall on your ass this time, though."

"I hope I broke your hand," Rachel muttered, but she had to bite on her lip to keep from grinning, too.

She mock-gasped, shifting her hands up to Rachel's back. "That's just mean."

Her hazel eyes were dancing with the lights around them, sparkling with that amber glow all over again, and the corners of her mouth creased deeply with her smile. Seeing it all at such close proximity was enough to take someone's breath away. It had been a long time for Rachel, since she had been so close to Quinn Fabray and her happiness. She brushed her thumbs along the back of Quinn's neck, grazing smooth blonde hairs, and smiled up at her.

"I'm just evil that way," she answered lightly.

Quinn's arms wrapped more fully around Rachel's waist, hugging her close while they made a few more passes around the rink, and Rachel's stumbles even pressed flat up against Quinn left them giggling all over again until the both of them almost faceplanted. At that point, it was decided they'd best get off the ice and they turned their skates in for heels again, but Quinn wasn't in the mood to stop dancing and truth be told, neither was Rachel. They ended up finding some holiday party full of well-dressed dancing partners and joined in without invite - no one seemed to notice or care whether they belonged there or not, and while once Rachel would've been scared of being found out, she never was with Quinn. Quinn could talk and act her way out of anything and she would never let Rachel take the fall for it.

So Rachel relaxed while they swung about in between other dancing couples to sped-up swing versions of Christmas classics and everything was bright and wonderful. The place was decorated top to bottom in red and green and Quinn fit right in in her emerald dress, and the light shone off her blonde hair that was beginning to come loose from her bun. And looking at Quinn's beaming face as she twirled her and spun her, Rachel realized she hadn't felt so joyous and light in a long, long time. Like she could spin right off the floor and into the clouds. Like she was a teenage girl again, a freshman, full of life and energy - and she giggled like it, too, Quinn spurring her on with teasing tickles to her sides every now and then. And they even mimicked a few old moves from days long past in glee club.

But every high had a low, and after what might've been hours dancing with Quinn - Rachel entirely lost track of the time - with only a few breaks to steal some champagne from the open bar, they stumbled out of the party and into a cab, panting and leaning on each other, completely breathless. Rachel's feet were so sore she thought she might have blisters, and her head was still spinning, and there was sweat trickling down her spine, but she was grinning as she sat back next to Quinn after giving her address to the driver.

"That was fun," she managed to pant out, and Quinn only flashed a grin at her before taking her hand, threading their fingers together.

By the time the cab pulled up outside Rachel's building, they had managed to get their breathing under control, and Rachel's heart didn't feel as if it was going to pound right out of her chest anymore. She led Quinn calmly up the stairs to her apartment, stepping in first and hanging up her coat and purse, heels kicked off so she could rub her feet for a moment while Quinn hung her jacket and purse as well. They exchanged a brief smile before Rachel padded off toward the kitchen.

"Do you want something more to drink?" she called over her shoulder, and Quinn's heels clicked more slowly after her.

"No, thank you."

Her tone had gone strained again, the way it was in the restaurant for those moments of tension. Rachel pretended she didn't notice anything, tugging a box of Chex Mix from the cupboard and a napkin from the island counter. She spread it out to dump a handful onto, digging through the mix to steal the nuts and pop them into her mouth. Quinn watched her, hands folded on the countertop, her rump resting against the stool seat. Rachel smiled at her again, and pale thumbs turned, one over the other. She was building up to something, building the courage to say something, and each turn of her thumbs dropped a heavier weight to the bottom of Rachel's stomach.

"Why are you tired of singing, Rachel?"

Rachel scoffed and popped another nut in her mouth. "I'm not, not in the least."

Quinn didn't falter. "You want to take a break. You're tired. You're never tired of your dreams."

"I'm not. Isn't it enough that I work all the time? Everyone burns out, Quinn; you should know, you change projects with the weather. Besides, it's not the singing." She flattened out the edge of her napkin, brushing a crumb back onto it.

"Then what is it?" Quinn's blonde head tilted in Rachel's peripheral vision.

"It's...everything. Life. Constantly going from being perfect at work to being perfect at home, and it's never a break, it's always busy, busy, busy in this city. And I love that, I love being in the city that never sleeps, but…" Rachel shrugged her shoulders, pressing her thumb down on a peanut.

"But you need a break."

"That's what I've been saying," she sighed out.

Quinn's pink tongue poked out over her bottom lip for a moment. "Why don't you come out to LA?"

Rachel lifted her gaze up, eyebrows popping all at once. "When? Like...now?"

She shrugged. "Why not? You can pack up and come stay with me and take however long you need to get away."

Rachel gnawed at her bottom lip, brushing her hands off as she turned to the fridge and swung it open. "Why not, other than the fact that I have contracts and responsibilities and a husband?"

Quinn's voice dropped an octave. "He'd understand, wouldn't he? Unless the two of you are still having problems."

She wheeled around, the cool air from the fridge blasting her rear. "That was two years ago, Quinn."

"Time doesn't change it. He cheated on you," she ground out through gritted teeth.

"And I cheated on him and - "

Quinn stood abruptly. "Only _after_ he cheated on you. As far as I'm concerned, you get a free pass. He doesn't."

Rachel couldn't help the fond smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth and she pushed the refrigerator door shut behind her as she reapproached the island counter. "You have no idea what it means to me that you're always on my side. But he and I have made up. He's apologized and things are...better."

She was working her jaw, the muscle tensing and releasing over and over. "Except he's part of why you're burned out."

Rachel's brow knit. "I didn't say - "

"You said you feel you have to be perfect at home. How is that fair to you?" Quinn's hand slid across the counter, closer to Rachel. "He's never deserved you."

She smiled this time when she scoffed. "You never think anyone deserves me."

"That's because they don't." Her own lips curled back at Rachel, eyes lighting up for a moment. "But especially not him."

"You haven't always been with the greatest guys, either, Quinn. Noah, Biff, that - "

"I know. I know that. But I didn't marry them either. Or go back to them after they'd cheated on me," she said pointedly.

Rachel folded her arms. "What did you expect me to do? Run away, like you're asking me to do now?"

Quinn's voice went softer. "No, no, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying...if you need to take some time in a different environment…"

She shifted her feet on the tile. "We tried that once, remember? I stayed in LA for two weeks."

Three years ago. Quinn's spine straightened, and her expression darkened all over again - but not with the anger it bore every time Rachel spoke of her husband. It may have looked angry, sure, but over the years, Rachel had come to recognize it for what it really was. Shame.

"You still hold that against me," she murmured.

Rachel dropped her hands to the countertop. "Quinn… That was a long time ago. I don't hold anything against you. I'm just saying, I was there for two whole weeks and we didn't get any time together."

"I know, and I'm sorry about that, I should've - "

"Quinn, stop, stop apologizing. I overreacted then. You were busy and I just came out there with no warning and _I_ should've expected it." Rachel tucked her lower lip beneath her teeth. "But can you honestly say you're any less busy now?"

Quinn traced a wide circle over the counter, eyes down. "I should've made the time for you. I will always regret that I didn't. But this time would be different."

It took a great deal of effort to say what Rachel said next. To say no, to reject the offer to pack her bags and run away with Quinn out to LA, spend weeks refreshing herself and regaining her energy and spirit while Quinn cultivated her confidence and happiness, the way she always worked to do, since their senior year of high school. Away from nasty directors and rush rush rush and paparazzi and her husband. To live in a fantasy with Quinn.

"I can't leave."

She scooped up the napkin, Chex Mix and all, and went to dump the remaining snack into the container, sighing to herself. She could feel Quinn's frustration.

"You won't leave him," she amended, and Rachel whipped about again.

"Quinn, what do you expect me to do? He is my husband. I married him, for better or worse, you don't just drop that at the first sign of trouble, it's not how a marriage works. It takes work, you're the one who first told me that, remember? That it takes maturity and responsibility to handle the commitment of not just a wedding, but a marriage."

Quinn smacked her palm against the countertop. "He _cheated_ on you!"

"And you've cheated, too!"

"I would nev - " Quinn stopped short, sucked in a breath, and lowered her gaze.

Rachel's heart thudded against her ribcage as she stared at Quinn, composing herself the way she did. Putting the pieces back together until she was contained, under control, and looking at Rachel steadily again, speaking gently again, the way she had since senior year.

"I just want you to be happy, Rachel. That's all I've ever wanted. And he's not making you happy," she ended firmly.

Rachel hugged herself. "Well, this is my choice. Not yours."

Quinn nodded down at the countertop. "I know, I know that."

The distance between them, really only consisting of the counter, seemed insurmountable all of a sudden, and Rachel's lightness drifted away entirely, staring at Quinn so far and so closed. Like the day she finally left LA, the day she realized Quinn was never going to have time for her. She hadn't even really blamed Quinn at the time, even though she'd pretended to. The person she was really angry with was herself, because she'd missed her opportunity. She'd wasted all that time in college, after Quinn gave her tickets to see her anytime she wanted, and she hadn't done it. She'd held back for fear of smothering or rejection or whatever she'd feared at the time, and Quinn had accepted her decision the way she always did and built a life of her own. It didn't include Rachel, because Rachel had excluded herself.

And now they were back where they were three years ago, far apart even though they were in the same room. It felt like high school when it was like this. Before Quinn had ever opened up to Rachel, before Quinn had let Rachel dry her tears, before they became kind of friends, before Yale and NYADA. Rachel hated it, staring across at Quinn like she was a mere stranger when she was so much more. The frosty air made her sick to her stomach, and her eyes stung, and Quinn was leaving tomorrow morning, and Rachel couldn't take it.

She lurched around the end of the counter, passing around the barrier to shift closer and take Quinn's arm, tentatively, begging, "Quinn, I don't want to fight with you." Her voice was more tearful than she expected, and she snuffed before she went on. "We only have tonight before you have to leave. Let's not waste it disagreeing."

Quinn's eyelashes fluttered a few times, thinking and heavy, and Rachel shifted her palm on her arm, squeezing once or twice. Until Quinn finally nodded her chin and opened her arms, Rachel sank into them and clenched her eyes shut tight. Her feet were still aching, and she couldn't imagine how Quinn felt in those heels, so she held on for as long as she could stand it before leaning back to take Quinn's hand in her own. Expectant eyes followed her every move, and Rachel leaned up to press her cheek against Quinn's before she dropped to her heels and led Quinn into the bedroom.

Rachel sat on the edge and scooted backward until she was on her own side, and tentatively patted the space beside her. Quinn didn't say a word. She just slid off her heels and went to her knees on the bed, copying Rachel's movements as she laid down on her side, curled up against a pillow. A part of Rachel was grateful for having had to change the sheets earlier. She didn't think she'd like Quinn being where her husband had been. It wouldn't feel right.

Quinn looked at her with patient, shining eyes, and Rachel was calmed by the way she breathed so evenly. In, and out. In, and out. She was so beautiful it made Rachel's heart ache.

"Do you remember when we were first in New York?" Rachel wasn't sure why she was whispering, but the way Quinn smiled at it sent all questions away.

"Mmm. For Nationals. And you called me a vindictive harpy when you thought I couldn't hear," she answered wryly, matching her volume.

Rachel grinned. "I did not."

"You did, you said it to Finn, 'she's a vindictive harpy.'" Her smirk grew.

Rachel shook her head with a flush. "I was a silly schoolgirl, as you pointed out to me that year."

"I had a point," Quinn drawled, nodding a little.

Rachel giggled despite herself and readjusted her head on the pillow."I just envied you. I told you you were everything I wanted to be."

"Is that still true?"

Rachel shook her head again and tucked into her bottom lip. "No."

Quinn's gaze flicked from eye to eye. "What am I to you now?"

"I think you know." She smiled sadly, and Quinn only nodded. Rachel took a breath. "I never told you how good you looked after that haircut. And you said you couldn't pull off a bob."

Quinn half-grinned, letting loose a grunt of a chuckle. "It wasn't a bob."

"It was close enough." She giggled. "Until you turned it pink, anyway."

"Mm, that was hot and you know it."

Rachel snorted. "Only because you never look anything less than flawless no matter what you do to yourself."

"I'm only going to focus on the compliment part of that."

Another giggle escaped her, and she smiled broadly. "Don't ever change, Quinn."

Quinn's smirk picked up. "No plans to."

"Good." Rachel reached across for Quinn's hand, threading fingers through again, and her heart thudded in her ears when Quinn kissed her thumb. "Can you do something for me?"

Quinn nodded. "Anything."

"Hold me?"

For a moment, Quinn only looked at her, and Rachel feared she had pushed too far. But then she let go of Rachel's hand and scooted up in bed, leaving her side open just for a Rachel Berry to fit in. And Rachel scooted over instantly, wrapping her arm over Quinn's narrow waist and nuzzling her cheek against a strong shoulder. Quinn's fingers swam in her hair, rubbing over her scalp and through the loose strands of brunette hair. Rachel could hear her heartbeat. She bit back the burning at the back of her eyes and forced them closed, feeling Quinn's breaths rise and fall, rise and fall, and hearing her heart thud-thud, thud-thud, until she fell asleep.

The morning brought a rude awakening by the alarm clock, one that Rachel had told her husband to turn off before he left and he hadn't, and it had been waking her up every morning since. She groaned and leaned over Quinn to reach his nightstand, to pound it off, and once it ceased its beeping, she laid back in the arc of Quinn's arm and stared up at her drawn, tired face. Her blonde hair had fallen loose from its bun in the night. And she was leaving this morning.

Rachel sniffed in a breath and sat up, and Quinn followed her up. Her hand brushed down Rachel's arm, chin resting against her shoulder for just a moment. Rachel closed her eyes until Quinn stood and went to slide her heels back on.

"What time's your flight leave?" she choked out.

Quinn smoothed out her dress. "Nine."

Rachel nodded. "I'll come see you off."

Quinn didn't argue, and Rachel slid off the bed to head into the bathroom. Her hair had fallen loose, too, and her curls were partly flattened. She supposed it didn't really matter anymore, because Quinn was leaving this morning. She shook her head of it and stripped to slip into the shower quickly, towel drying and dabbing on some makeup when she finished. Quinn was out of the bedroom when she emerged, but she could hear the coffee machine running. She pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and skirt before joining Quinn in the kitchen and eating a silent breakfast of coffee and bagels with her.

They rode to the Four Seasons together, where Rachel sat on the edge of a plush bed while Quinn changed into more comfortable traveling clothes in the bathroom - jeans and a long t-shirt, as it turned out - and gathered her things together into the one suitcase she always carried. They went downstairs and checked her out, and finally rode to the airport. Rachel accompanied her as far as she was allowed, and there Quinn set down her suitcase and took a breath as she faced Rachel once more.

"Well…"

Rachel swallowed thickly. That word was her least favorite word in the world as of the moment. It meant the night was over. Their time was over. Quinn was about to be across the country again and Rachel wouldn't see her face for who knew how long. And it wasn't fair. Quinn didn't even really like LA.

Rachel felt a tear trickle down her nose and snuffed roughly, and Quinn's thumbs were instantly there to brush away every one that escaped thereafter. Her hazel eyes were sparkling again this morning, but not with brightness, not with happiness. The creases at the corners of her mouth deepened nonetheless, and she shook her golden head.

"Don't cry," she murmured.

Rachel sniffed harder, nodding her head in Quinn's warm, soft hands before she admitted, "I don't want you to go."

And she knew just how hard it was for Quinn not to say she would stay, or to ask Rachel again to come to LA with her. Because in the moment, Rachel would say yes, would drive her back to her apartment, or hop on that plane with her. And Quinn's eyes closed for a moment, dragging in a breath, two, before she spoke again.

"I know. But you know what this is, don't you?"

Rachel shook her head roughly. "No. I only know that…" She bit her lip, stopping.

Quinn petted her cheeks, stroked her hair back, and smiled sadly. "It's just a fantasy. And it's time to go back to reality."

Rachel closed her eyes, letting a few more tears slip away, and Quinn caught them swiftly. Rachel lifted her hands, to grip onto Quinn's wrists, to not let her slip away too fast. She brushed her thumbs over the back of them, over her soft, soft, sweet skin. And Quinn's gentle lips rested against Rachel's forehead. She sobbed, wrangled for control, and Quinn only stepped back once she'd calmed again, looking at her intently.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Quinn's thumb traced down Rachel's cheek, their foreheads barely grazed. "And just be happy, because that's all I really want."

Rachel tried to nod. She managed to barely breathe out, "I will," even if it was a lie.

Quinn squeezed her hands, pressed a kiss to her thumb, and picked up her suitcase. She favored Rachel with one more genuine smile before she turned and walked away. Rachel waited until she had completely disappeared from sight to turn around, call a cab, and go home. Her apartment seemed emptier than ever when she walked in and tossed her keys down. Normally she would fill it with music, but today she went into the bedroom and changed from her skirt into sweatpants and curled up in the spot Quinn had slept in. Only then did Rachel let the tears fall freely, hiccupping into the lilac scented pillow and hugging herself to keep her heart from exploding.

In the evening, when she had calmed enough to sit and mindlessly stare at the TV, her husband called. Rachel rejected it to voicemail.

She stared ahead at the flashing screen. She didn't feel any better.


End file.
